


All My Secrets

by AuroraNova



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Babel Trek Open Project (Star Trek), Gen, Internment Camp 371 (Star Trek), augment angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraNova/pseuds/AuroraNova
Summary: Sooner or later, Julian's protective lies end up giving him gnawing guilt with a side of self-loathing. This time, it happens when Tain is dying.A Babel Trek fic where there are no universal translators in Internment Camp 371, and Julian & Garak have to deal with the repercussions.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak
Comments: 23
Kudos: 235
Collections: The Babel Trek Open Project





	All My Secrets

“Is it my imagination, or is the porridge slightly better than usual tonight?”

Julian ate another spoonful. Definitely better than usual. It seemed fully cooked as opposed to the usual three-quarters, which improved the dish almost to palatability. Jem’Hadar made terrible chefs. Or replicator programmers, as the case may have been. Either way, they didn’t feed their prisoners well, though Julian hadn’t detected any signs of serious malnutrition, at least.

He looked over to where General Martok grunted and scowled at his dinner. Meals in Internment Camp 371 featured no live insects, for which Julian was grateful but Martok quite disgruntled. The targ steak Martok wanted last week, on the other hand, sounded like a delicious change of pace from gruel and ration bars.

Turning back to the Romulan beside him, Julian said, “I take it the general doesn’t agree with me.”

“You don’t need to speak Klingon to tell that,” said Renaav, but there was a spark of amusement in her eyes anyway. They had to take what simple pleasures they could.

Martok, eschewing his spoon, tipped his gruel into his mouth directly from the bowl, as quickly as possible in what Julian assumed was an attempt to taste only what was absolutely necessary. He then muttered in Klingon. Julian was starting to pick up some Romulan vocabulary – the gruel, for instance, was _haron’u_ – but not much Klingon. He hoped not to have the opportunity.

He was afraid he would have time to reach fluency.

“‘Porridge is for babies and the dying,’” translated Renaav in her impressive Standard. Julian could now identify what a Romulan accent sounded like, thanks to her and her fellows.

If the Dominion overseers had hoped that confiscating all universal translators would reduce communication between groups of prisoners, they were bound to be disappointed with their Alpha Quadrant captives. It turned out that both the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar placed high value on learning other languages, so they had no difficulty conversing with each other, or Martok, for that matter.

Some of the Romulans spoke Cardassi, some Klingon. It seemed they were expected to know at least two languages besides their own, so multiple agents were fluent in Federation Standard and translated for Julian with more consideration than he’d have expected from a Tal Shiar operative. The internment camp made for strange alliances. 

Then there was Tain, who evidently spoke Standard, Romulan, and Klingon, though Martok confided, through one of the Romulan women, that his accent was difficult to decipher. Julian wasn’t sure the spymaster didn’t speak Breen, as well. Another Obsidian Order agent had, but he died in the ring against the Jem’Hadar, leaving the rest of them struggling with hand signals while Tain’s condition steadily deteriorated.

Everyone assumed that Julian only spoke Standard, at least when it came to interspecies linguistics. “Starfleet’s reliance on technology is well-known,” as the late Cardassian had put it. Or, as Tavron, the ranking Tal Shiar agent, said, “Humans are more concerned with their diverse ancestral languages. I’ll never understand it.” That started a conversation which occupied an evening as agreeably as possible under the circumstances, wherein Julian conformed to the Romulan stereotype by admitting that his Arabic was passable but the only alien language he knew was a smattering of Bajoran picked up from his infirmary staff.

The last part was a lie.

Julian didn’t like being bored. Therefore, when he had found himself assigned to DS9 with two weeks to fill before his transport left, he’d started teaching himself Cardassi. There was no telling what kind of medical equipment he would have in the infirmary, and how well the Starfleet technology would integrate. Best to be able to read Cardassi well enough to do his job, he’d reasoned, and then with the discovery of the wormhole it became clear Dukat would be hovering around, making language seemed like an even more useful skill.

Besides, it wasn’t like he had a lot of people eager to spend time with him at first. He’d had plenty of time to work on Cardassi in the evenings.

Since nobody else was teaching themselves the language, which in retrospect was less surprising than he’d found it at the time, Julian had decided to keep his linguistic hobby to himself. It wasn’t worth risking anybody asking questions. The fact was, simple memorization required no effort on his part. The real difficulty came in accessing decent educational materials, and if he hadn’t been worried about Garak’s keen observational skills, he’d have been asking for practice. There was little doubt in Julian’s mind that while he could read and understand reasonably well, he would struggle to speak Cardassi if his life depended on it.

Even in the internment camp he stuck with the lie. Tain had known what he liked to drink, somehow. Julian was terrified that, even as sick as he was, Tain would be able to piece together the facts and figure out his secret, and if he ever did make it off this damned asteroid he wanted a career to which he might return. So he feigned incomprehension and took some comfort in knowing that the Romulans and Cardassians who translated for him were doing an accurate job as far as he could tell. He also added some choice slang phrases to his vocabulary, some of which were quite creative, and pretended to ask for Cardassi words on occasion, along with Romulan, to keep up appearances. In the grand scheme of things, the deception seemed relatively benign.

As all his protective lies eventually did, this one was bound, sooner or later, to give Julian gnawing guilt with a side of self-loathing.

It came when Garak rushed to Tain’s side while the elder Cardassian lay dying. Julian expected that, once it became apparent there was nothing medically he could do, Garak would politely ask him to leave. Instead, when Tain asked in Cardassi, “Are you alone?” Garak replied, “Yes. There’s no one else but you and me.”

Garak didn’t know Julian could understand them. Yes, allowing him there as a witness at all was… well, Julian hardly dared guess what Garak was going for. Sticking it to Tain? Moral support? The point was, Julian’s lie, harmless as it once seemed, now trampled all over Garak’s cherished privacy.

He didn’t have time to explain even if he could have. Then Tain would know Garak had lied to him on his deathbed, for one thing. All Julian could do was sit there silently, learning Garak’s secret – perhaps his greatest secret – through fraud, and let the guilt eat him up inside.

“Father. Father, you’re dying. For once in your life, speak the truth.”

Oh, God. That explained so much about Garak. Almost everything, actually, and Julian wasn’t supposed to know. How was he going to pretend ignorance? How was he going to look Garak in the eye at all, never mind without making his guilt obvious to Garak’s ever-observant gaze?

And his parents wondered why he never came home, hadn’t even written in years. They’d done this to him, condemned him to a life where in trying to protect himself, even the seemingly innocuous lies of omission piled up, layer after layer of sins he had to commit if he wanted any kind of life, the weight of them crushing his conscience with no way out except a truth which would destroy him. Small wonder he struggled to connect with people, when this was the result.

“I should have killed your mother before you were born. You have always been a weakness I can’t afford.”

Julian was witnessing Garak laid bare, stripped of his own protective lies. He’d sought answers for years, and now he had them, obtained under false pretenses so they came bitterly. Garak deserved better than this.

When it was apparent Tain had died, he had to say something. But what? “Garak,” he started.

He’d never been so grateful to see Worf show up. Garak returned to business, Worf translated the Standard for Martok’s benefit, and they got to work.

Julian should’ve been used to this by now. No matter how many lives he could save – and he _was_ an excellent doctor who truly loved his job – it never made up for the rest. He and guilt were intimately acquainted. Somehow, it never got easier. He doubted it ever would.

* * *

Julian didn’t understand. He didn’t know how he even had a Starfleet career and medical license, for one thing, but moreover how people just forgave him. At the staff meeting he had apologized for lying and said he’d understand if people needed time to adjust. Captain Sisko had promptly replied, “You didn’t have much choice if you wanted a life worth living,” and that was apparently that. Afterward, Miles asked if Julian had booked their next holosuite session, while Jadzia wanted to discuss a new theory of humanoid evolution based on the ancient message discovered by the _Enterprise_. It was all normal. People knew and they didn’t seem to care.

Which left Garak. It was tempting to lie again, perhaps say he wanted to start learning Cardassi, but no. Julian had had his fill of lies. He would tell Garak the truth, and if it cost him their friendship, that would be fair.

He dreaded the conversation. Losing even one friend would hurt, deservedly so though it might be. Garak had been his first friend on the station. In many ways, he was the first person who really accepted Julian as he was – or as he seemed to be. If he wanted nothing more to do with Julian, it would be a major blow.

 _I’m done lying_ , Julian reminded himself, and hit the doorbell.

“Ah, Doctor.” Garak answered the door with his standard genial face. “What a pleasant surprise. Do come in.”

Julian did, and then launched into his prepared speech. “I imagine you’ve heard about me by now.”

“One hears so much gossip on this station. I try not to take any of it too seriously.”

He was going to make Julian say it, wasn’t he? Well, at least one person had to punish him, and no one else had taken the role. “It’s true. I’m an Augment.”

Garak didn’t pretend to be surprised. “Am I to understand the Federation truly fears you?”

Julian shrugged. “Apparently not as much as I thought. Frankly, I don’t know how I still have a career. I know I’m not Khan, but the laws are clear.”

“And you broke them.” Garak’s tone was carefully neutral, giving away nothing at all.

“I wanted to do something meaningful with my life. To make…” he couldn’t quite get out the words ‘killing Jules,’ so he settled for, “what my parents did to me worthwhile. Options for people like me are extremely limited.”

“I see.”

“No,” said Julian with more exasperation than he’d meant to let out, “I don’t think you do.” Garak was acting as though this was all perfectly pragmatic and reasonable, no explanation required. He hadn’t realized that he was high up on the list of people Julian had ever wronged, however unintentionally. 

“Then tell me, Doctor,” he said, still treating this like just another conversational game to be played out.

“You lie easily, Garak. It’s nothing to you.” Realizing he’d gone off script, Julian went back to his planned words. “I wanted to save lives, and to do that I had to lie, by omission if nothing else, far more than I originally realized.”

“There is no such thing as a lie of omission,” said Garak. “Lies are actively told. What people erroneously assume is their own fault.”

He truly didn’t know. Julian braced himself for the backlash, whether it came in icy silence or rage. “Is that what you really think?”

“Of course,” said Garak, as though the alternative wasn’t even worth consideration.

It was now or never. Steeling himself, Julian forced his mouth around the unfamiliar Cardassi syllables as best he could. “And if I hadn’t told you I understand Cardassi?”

Garak went still, his entire body a flawless mask. Clearly Julian’s attempt at the language, however badly mangled, was at least somewhat intelligible.

Julian ploughed ahead while he still had the chance to say his piece, going back to Standard. “For what it’s worth, I’m deeply sorry. I started studying Cardassi when I had time before my transport here, and I never told anyone because I was trying to fit in and not arouse suspicion. Don’t think it didn’t occur to me that if anyone could figure me out, it would be you. And don’t think I wanted to intrude on your privacy, Garak. I hated it. I still hate it.” When Garak had yet to move a muscle, never mind utter a word, Julian finished with another, useless, “I’m sorry.” Then he turned to go.

“You understood the entire conversation.”

He spun around to look at Garak. No cracks in the mask, but he hadn’t been thrown out the door yet. “I’m afraid I did. My comprehension is better than my pronunciation.” Unable to make eye contact, he settled his gaze on Garak’s left shoulder. “I have not, nor will I, tell anyone what I heard.”

“Tain would not have hesitated to have you killed for the knowledge you possess.”

Julian swallowed hard. Not at the words – he couldn’t claim surprise there – but because he was nearly certain Garak was being entirely honest, and he didn’t know what that meant. He did at least know enough to stop himself from voicing his first thought, which was relief Tain wasn’t alive to see to his death. Tactless to say such a thing to the man’s son, though he had a nagging feeling Garak guessed the thought anyway. He was eerily good at that sort of thing.

“Being honest now, Garak?” Julian aimed for a lighthearted tone and fell woefully short.

“On occasion, it is the only option.” Garak relaxed his mask just enough for Julian to see weariness. “You know, Doctor, if you were a Cardassian you would not apologize. You would apply the information strategically for your own gain, or your family’s.”

“I would never even think of such a thing.” On the contrary, Julian felt wretched about the whole mess and had spent the better part of an evening thinking about inducing carefully targeted amnesia. (Far too risky, not to mention people would wonder why exactly he felt compelled to invent such a procedure for himself.)

“I am aware,” said Garak.

Julian waited for further response. When none was forthcoming, he said, “So, does that mean you’re not going to kill me, then?” It was a joke. Mostly. Safer to ask than _do you hate me now?_ , at any rate.

“Certainly not. The station is not exactly full of people willing to converse with me over lunch, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Julian finally started to relax. Even if consequences for his deception were merited, he’d waited so long to have a place and friends that the idea of losing them hurt terribly, more than anything had since he’d found out about the resequencing.

“Ziyal is,” he said. He wasn’t sure why that came out, unless he didn’t want Garak to feel he wasn’t allowed to be angry because he had no other person interested in his company.

“Ziyal is a lovely young woman. She is not a conversational challenge.” At this, Garak got a certain gleam in his eye which Julian associated with anticipation. “If you’ve been holding yourself back, Doctor, I shall be most intrigued to discover what new angles our discourses might take.”

“Of everyone on the station, I hold myself back the least with you.” On four separate occasions, in fact, he’d later reprimanded himself for getting too careless while caught up in a debate.

Garak seemed pleased. “Well, I look forward to the cessation all the same.”

“You’re really not mad?” Julian asked, still confused by this turn of events. Here he’d expected to be a pariah even if he still had a career, and the worst he’d dealt with were strange looks on the Promenade and a few whispers he wasn’t meant to hear. All told, he had gotten off far more lightly than he had any right to.

“Oh, I am quite irate,” said Garak. “With myself. I never once thought to investigate whether you knew Cardassi, which is an unforgivable error. I won’t make the same mistake again, I assure you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” All manner of subtle tests from Garak were in his future, then. Julian found himself unbothered by the prospect. It might even be an amusing game, if he played it right.

Garak was a lot of things. Many more than Julian knew, no doubt, but the point was, he was no hypocrite. He’d stated there were no such things as lies of omission, and he meant it, even when the shoe was on the other foot. In the past that would’ve eaten at Julian, who’d always felt the weight of his own fraud. Tonight, for the first time in seventeen years, Julian wasn’t hiding anything about himself from a single soul.

“No, Doctor, the faults I find are with myself.” Garak gave him a steady, assessing look. “To adapt an adage, I turned my back, and now I must rely on your generosity in not plunging a knife into it.”

What a very Garak way of saying _I’m not used to trusting people, but I’m willing to try with you_. It spoke volumes about their friendship that Garak believed there was a good chance the proverbial knife wouldn’t end up in his back, and Julian found himself touched that this man who never expected the best from anyone was, however warily, making an exception for him.

He hastened to reassure, “No stabbing. I promise.”

“Good,” said Garak. “Now that we have that business out of the way, and I hope you don’t take this as a personal slight, your Cardassi pronunciation leaves much to be desired. Should you ever wish to improve it, I am at your service.”

“I might just take you up on that,” said Julian. Since he didn’t have to pretend anymore, why not? He still hated to be bored. “Lunch tomorrow? I heard the Replimat has a hundred new recipes.”

Garak nodded. “I’m curious as to your thoughts on Malor’s short stories.”

“I think they’re not short,” replied Julian, quite happy to return to this normal conversation. “The usual time?”

“I’ll be there.”

Julian thought about how relaxing it would be to conduct their discussions without censoring himself. He could stop ‘misremembering’ quotes, for one thing. Without the ongoing project of hiding in plain sight, he’d certainly have the mental energy to devote to Cardassi pronunciation. That, however, could wait. For now he thought he could actually get a decent night’s sleep for the first time since he returned from the internment camp.

With the allure of his bed in mind, he said, “Good night, Garak.”

“Good evening, Doctor.”

Julian smiled the entire walk back to his own quarters. He didn’t even care when a small gaggle of ensigns gave him strange looks and started talking about him once he passed. Against all odds, he still had not just his career but his friends as well, even knowing what he was and how he’d lied to hide it. He didn’t have words to express just how much it meant to him that these people for whom he cared so much cared about him in return. And he didn’t have to fear exposure anymore. No more hypocrisy, no more lies of omission.

He was finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the [Babel Trek Open Project](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/BabelTrek), an event for any and all works involving Star Trek and language! Want to contribute? You have until the 8th of February 2020!


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